


Like Shattered Glass

by lilgenious



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilgenious/pseuds/lilgenious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day that he had lost his greatest friend, Lancelot felt like shattered glass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Shattered Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/gifts).



> To Sath, hope you have a happy yule! 
> 
> A few bits of the story are AU, the memories that I incorporate into the story are especially AU. Though I did my best to incorporate the friendship between Lancelot and Gawain, their falling out and the aftermath that must have happened behind the scenes. Most of you will make the note that the memories seem out of order and may be annoyed by it, but as Lancelot is grieving through the loss of his friend, I believe that the order is very significant at least, in the beginning. Things start panning out later on in the story. 
> 
> Well anyway, this is for Sath who gave me the greatest inspiration to write this story.

For three days Lancelot remained at the side of the tomb of his friend. He did not move, he did not sleep- he had just sat there, looking at the tomb in silence. Almost as if he was expecting his old friend to return from the grave that he, Lancelot, had sent him to. He had nothing to turn to in his grief, nothing but the thoughts and memories that plagued him constantly now. It was punishment, he knew, for what he had done. 

Months had passed since he had killed the two brothers of Sir Gawain. His heart gave an involuntary jolt at the memory of their blood running upon the hilt of his sword and onto his hands, staining them forever more with his sin. He had loved Gareth like a father does a son, like a brother does his own brother, and the tragedy of losing him affected Lancelot every day. Gaheris lost his life that day as well, and he had suffered his loss just as much as Gareth's loss affected him. He had earned the hatred of his old friend, one that he had respected and looked up to because he had wanted to be like him, and in the end Gawain saw him as an enemy that needed to be destroyed. 

To find himself in battle against his best friend and ally was surreal to Lancelot. Each blow that came from Gawain's own sword was meant to kill, and Lancelot had tried to deflect the blows without striking any of his own. He knew that Gawain was suffering, that the grief he felt had taken complete control over his heart and soul, that in his grief he sought revenge for the murder of his brothers. He had looked like a madman, eyes wild with a rage that Lancelot recognised as one that took hold when enemy warriors tried to kill Arthur on a battlefield. To have this hatred and anger aimed at him now, was more than he could bear. 

He had yelled something at Gawain as the battle waged between them. As Lancelot moved quickly between blows- twisting, bending, quickly jumping back in a macabre dance to avoid death, only striking when he wasn't fast enough. Yet, with each blow that came from his own sword, the more Gawain seemed to gain more strength.

Then Gawain had fallen, and he Lancelot had sat by his dead friend's side for days. He discovered that memories had a way of coming to the mind vivid and fresh, as if the events had happened the day before or the previous week. It was for this reason and the shock of losing Gawain that was the reason for why he had stayed so still by his tomb.  
\------  
I

Every time he passed by the castle and the slow moving river that was a stone’s throw behind it, he was reminded immediately of his hometown that he had left months earlier in France. At first he had wanted the memories of Trèves, near the Loire river of France to flood him. However, after awhile he found them to be an unwelcome visitor that refused to leave, and Lancelot had soon resolved to never go near the wide river that moved with the laziness of the Loire River for fear that the memories would overwhelm him.  
He didn’t mention these sentimental feelings to the other knights, mostly out of fear that they would regard him as weak and unworthy of his sword and crest. However, there was one knight that made it known that he knew that something was bothering him, and did so in a way that caught the attention of the others. 

It was only a matter of time before he had alienated himself from this knight. He didn’t trust the man as much as he did Sir Tristan, though he dared not speak of his feelings to this knight either. Even if a man came from the same land as you, he was not to be trusted at first. Lancelot had learned that the hard way years before he had been made a knight- first to the French king when he had caught his eye in a few battles, then to King Arthur who was in awe the moment he had fought in a tournament.

It wasn’t often that he had taken it upon himself to avoid somebody, especially a fellow comrade. However, he had found that on the days that his heart ached for the home across the churning sea were the ones that he wanted to avoid the awkward questions that this specific knight repeatedly asked. Though, he had to admit that he didn’t know what was worse, the questions or the concerned looks that the man often gave him. 

Today was one of those days that his heart yearned for Brittany, and the Loire River that he had spent his childhood. He remembered the fencing lessons that he and his brother took near the banks of the river, and the ancient ash that he had often climbed before it had been carried off during a particularly nasty flood. 

“We have training to do today,” a loud voice behind him said. “It is going to be a hot day today so it is best to do it in the morning when it is nice.”

Lancelot turned from the large window and looked around blindly as he got used to the darkness of the hallway, he saw the man that he had been trying to avoid and nodded absently. He turned back to the window and surveyed the area outside. He saw that the others had already gotten ready for the training that morning, and his eyes followed them as they made their way to the river out back. Of course they were going to go to the river, it provided the best shade from the hot sun, and afterwards when they were done with their training, most of the knights would wade out into the water in order to cool down. 

“The river isn’t that bad, you know?” Gawain said behind him. “It is a lazy river; the only time you have to worry is when it is spring, when the water moves quickly.” He paused for a moment and eyed Lancelot with the same look that he often gave the enemy, a look that told the young knight that he was being studied closely. “Though that isn’t what is bothering you.” 

It wasn’t a question, and there was no way that Lancelot could escape the situation he had found himself in. He could no longer ignore Gawain and his questions, or the concerned looks he had often given him. He decided to tell this man the truth; perhaps he had good intentions and wouldn’t use a comrade’s weakness against him. So it was with great reluctance, that he told a fellow knight what was wrong. 

“There are days when I miss home.” Lancelot looked fiercely into Sir Gawain’s eyes and did not waver. “I grew up in a town that is on the other side of the sea from here, in Brittany. It has a river that reminds me of this one here, but I really have no reason to feel this sick for home. Everything that is important to me is here in this land now.”  
For a moment the other knight said nothing, but when he did it was in a low and soothing voice. “What you are feeling is normal for any man, and it is not something to be ashamed of. Do you think that every man here doesn’t feel his heart pang for the home he had left? Many of us talk about our homes and where we came from, some more than others, but we all talk about the places we left behind.” 

Lancelot found that he felt much better at the knowledge that he wasn’t a weak man for missing the place he came from, and the relief must have shown on his face because 

Gawain looked amused. “Do not tell me that one of the greatest knights in the kingdom thought that he was the only one who suffered in his thoughts of home!”

He laughed heartily at this. “No, but I thought that you would have thought ill of me if I did come out and admit my feelings about it.”

Gawain became serious then. “I would have hoped that you would have had a bit more trust in me to see that I would have never done something like that.”  
He said nothing for a few minutes, choosing instead to look out the window as a group of knights began walking towards the river to join the others. Their laughter rang high in the early morning air, and he wished that he was amongst them now. He looked over to Gawain, still standing in the dark hallway behind him and nodded his head before he moved towards him. 

“I do trust you,” he said, and he was surprised how strong his voice sounded at these words. “I trust you with my life and more.”

“So do I,” said Gawain without any hesitation. 

For a moment the two men stood gazing at each other in silence, before Gawain motioned to him with his hand and disappeared around a corner. This time Lancelot did not hesitate in following the knight that was so persistent in discovering just what was bothering a fellow comrade.

II

The sound of fast moving water as it moved downhill was high in Lancelot’s ears as he hurtled down the trail at a gallop. Standing in the stirrups, gripping his tired mount’s sides with his knees, he leaned over the graceful arch of the horse’s neck and urged more speed. The bay beneath him shuddered; sides heaving violently as white foam flew back from the horse’s mouth and occasionally sprayed the rider upon its back. The young knight took a moment to look over his shoulder; he had covered a lot of ground between the enemy castle and the river and could no longer see the threat that had promised to end his life and that of his fellow comrade. He sat back in the saddle and checked his horse’s pace, shortening the reins as he did so. 

The exhausted bay responded quickly and slowed to a trembling walk before it pulled to a stop near an ancient willow tree that leaned over the banks of the river. Lancelot patted the horse upon its sleek neck as the animal lowered its head, sides heaving from the hard riding that it had endured. The young man knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he had to put the stocky bay into another hard gallop, that it would kill the horse so he ensured that the animal rested enough before moving slowly to the shade of the willow tree before him. 

The sound of a fast approaching horse made the young knight look back towards the trail that he had come, and worried he checked to see if his sword would come out of its sheath easily. For a few moments he waited, hardly able to breathe before a big horse and its rider broke out through the thick bushes to the far left of the trail and became known. 

“We have to hurry,” Gawain said as Lancelot breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his friend. “They have realised the tricks we played and are now coming upon us quickly. We must make haste or we are as good as dead.”

Lancelot looked down upon his horse in worry. “I fear that my horse will be as good as dead if I put him into another gallop, my friend. Perhaps we can fight our way out or ask them of their terms for our release.”

Gawain regarded him darkly. “There are at least twenty of these knights, to fight them spells certain death. Besides, I have heard of these renegade brutes and their leader, they won’t be fair in their terms. Besides, we have to go to our king who needs use of us and being captured by these men will hold us up further.”

“There has to be another way, I will be without a horse if I put him through another gallop.” Lancelot looked about him as the sound of hooves and men shouting reached their ears. “We can lose these men when we cross the river, but it is too treacherous here; we’ll have to try further downstream.” 

Without another word, the two knights spurred their horses into a gallop and rode recklessly down the trail, putting as much space between themselves and the place that they had rested at. 

III

Jump, lunge, cut, parry, step back, swipe, feint, lunge, froissement, parry, cut over.

Lancelot found that he rather enjoyed going against Gawain during training. Not only was he able to show his skills, but he was also able to learn new techniques that Gawain taught each session. He had discovered that he was against an equal when against this particular knight, though deep down he knew he was against a far better swordsman and yearned to learn how to be as invincible as his friend. 

Their other comrades watched the fight closely but did not intervene. They knew how important it was for a knight to learn and show off his skills, as such, they kept a safe distance from the two men that sparred near the banks of the river, though were close enough to watch the friendly battle in awe. 

Gawain grunted in frustration as Lancelot hopped back and performed a false attack, which was quickly followed by a well manoeuvred parry and a thrust. 

“You were great when you first fought in that tournament,” panted Gawain afterwards. Both he and Lancelot had taken a break and were both looking out at the river. Gawain leaned forward, his hands upon his knees as he fought for breath, but soon after stood to his full height to look at his friend beside him. “However, now you seem to be unstoppable in battle.”

Lancelot stood with his sword before him, point on the ground and gently leaned on it. He blushed furiously at this compliment, but said nothing for a few minutes as a light breeze playfully tugged at his hair and began to cool him down. Finally he looked over at Gawain and noticed the look that overcame his friend’s features, one of fondness and pride and such that made him smile. 

“I wouldn’t be this great without you,” he said at last, his attention now on a white swan that moved slowly in the water. “You taught me things that I needed to perfect.” 

For several minutes the friends remained silent, both looking out over the still water and deeply immersed in their own thoughts before Gawain quietly said: “We all bring something of value here to others, and we all enjoy teaching each other what we have learned throughout the years.”

IV

A month after his arrival to England found Lancelot against a knight that seemed undefeatable. The man was as strong as he was large and no matter what trick he threw this knight’s way, it was matched equally by a blow that seemed ready to knock him off his feet. Despite this, he found that he was more intrigued by this large man, than frustrated at the realisation that he had finally met his match. 

Afterwards, when the training was over for the morning and the rest of the knights trudged back up to the castle, Lancelot took a small walk through the apple orchard to collect his thoughts. He paused at one apple tree, bent with age and fruit. The apples weren’t ready for harvest yet, he knew just by looking at them, but he found a small apple on the ground and grabbed it. He tossed the little apple in the air and grabbed it, looking around him as he did so. 

The orchard that he found himself in seemed wild, not at all like the well kept apple trees back in his country where farmers and villagers alike would trim the trees in early spring to prevent overgrowing. On closer examination of the trees, he realised it was a different apple breed than what he was accustomed to- whereas the cider apple trees in Brittany produced bigger apples, the trees in this land bore smaller green ones. He took a moment to study the little apple in his hand, a big hole was burrowed into the fruit and he threw it away in disgust. 

“You fought well today,” a voice said behind Lancelot, startling him from his reverie. 

He turned quickly and saw the large knight that he had been up against earlier. For a moment he studied the man before him and said nothing, the man decided to continue talking instead. 

“You’re one of those foreign knights that came to England for the tournament.” It was a statement, not a question and Lancelot decided not to answer it. “Your accent is quite familiar to me, do you mind if I place it? I know you’re from overseas in France; after all you do carry the common coat of arms from there. However, the men that come from that country have a wide range of accents depending on where they are from and yours is very easy to place.”

Amused at this, Lancelot regarded him in silence for a moment longer before putting this knight to the test. “Amuse me then, fellow knight!” 

The other knight didn’t wait for another moment, almost as if he were challenged to a duel, he pounced upon the challenge and stood firm before the young man. 

“Your accent tells me that you are from a place that is directly across from England,” said the knight. “You’re not from the east-central like Sir Tristan but from the west.”

“You can tell all this by listening to one’s voice?”

“You can tell a lot by listening to a man’s voice.” 

Lancelot must have looked confused because the knight continued on. “You can tell whether or not a man comes from a prestigious family or whether he is well cultivated just by listening to him speak.” 

“Oh?” Lancelot asked curious now. 

“All you have to do is listen to a man speak.” The knight shrugged his shoulders. “Let me say that I am most honoured to have gone against you during training.”

Lancelot smiled at this compliment. “I too am honoured to have sparred against such a respectable and good knight such as you.” 

The knight held out his hand for Lancelot to shake. “I am Sir Gawain,” he said as the young man grabbed his hand and gave a firm shake. 

“Sir Lancelot,” the young knight replied joyously. 

Sir Gawain looked towards the large, sprawling castle. From where they stood, they could only see the top floor of the building, a bit of the stone courtyard and the tower that loomed menacingly over the gardens. The rest of the building was hidden by tall trees and thick overgrown bushes that were in great need of a trim. 

“We’d better get back,” said Gawain apprehensively looking towards the sun. “If we’re late for inspection, our sergeant at arms will have our heads.”

As they walked back towards the castle, Lancelot reflected on the events that had transpired so far that day. He had sparred with a knight and had found a trusted friend with him.  
While it is easy to find a comrade with a fellow knight, it is hard to find a true friend in one. Lancelot thought to himself as he listened to Gawain speak of an adventure that he had went on in the past, one that included a beautiful lady, a valiant knight, a wrathful husband and an intelligent goat. And with this man, I think I found that true friend. 

V

He had gone mad during his search for the Holy Grail and as such as unrecognisable even to himself. He had lost so many of his brothers to this quest that he went insane with their loss, insane at the horrors that he had endured during the search and at a question that had plagued his mind from time to time: Is it worth seeking something that is the cause of all this bloodshed?

Two years earlier, King Arthur had ordered his faithful knights to search for the elusive Holy Grail, and two years on they had showed little progress in recovering the ancient artifact. The remaining knights had straggled back to Arthur’s side, Sir Gawain amongst them, all disappointed that they had failed at the quest given to them. 

It was during these two years that Lancelot had noticed a great change coming over his dear friend. Gawain had become thoroughly ruthless in his search for the Holy Grail; where once stood a great and noble warrior, now stood a knight eager to spill blood. Lancelot didn’t blame Gawain for this change, during their adventure they had met many an enemy knight that had intended to kill those that he had met in the road. Of course, he didn’t ignore the fact that with each passing of their friends, Gawain became thirstier for blood.  
He had observed throughout the years that Gawain was a vengeful man, and that it was this vengeance that spoke more than his actions and words. 

“Your vengeance will be the end of you, my friend,” said Lancelot one evening as the two of them sat beneath a tree by the river and sharpened their swords.  
Gawain had said nothing to this, but Lancelot knew that what he had said had been understood. 

That conversation had taken place a year before the quest for the Holy Grail had begun, and the young knight had often repeated it during their journey. Now all Lancelot had were memories of what he had done during those years, the lives he had destroyed and had helped destroy, all because of an artifact that was elusive enough to be questioned. 

Today happened to be a bad day for Lancelot as he was deep in his memories and thoughts and often confused the two as each other. He found himself speaking to his dead comrades, remembering their faces, their way of speaking and the adventures they had been on together until they had died. 

“Lancelot?” a familiar voice said suddenly, pulling the knight out of his thoughts. “Is that you?”  
Lancelot looked around and saw the owner of the voice, standing tall and firm in the darkness of the room he had exiled himself into. His heart leapt when he recognised Gawain, but his mind refused to accept it. He had often seen his dead comrades standing in that very spot when his madness completely took over, and today it seemed that his mind had decided to play the same tricks on him again. 

“Gawain,” said Lancelot weakly. “I’ve missed you and fear that my mind is playing vile tricks again...”

“I am here in the flesh and bone,” said Gawain slowly, he approached the chair that Lancelot had thrown himself into moments before until his face could be seen. A look of concern had crossed Gawain’s face when he saw just what had happened to his friend. “Your mind isn’t playing tricks on you today. I’ve come to take you back home, you don’t belong here.” 

“The Lancelot you knew back before this madness is long gone,” he said sharply. “He’s been replaced by Le Chevalier Mal Fet.” 

Gawain looked puzzled for a moment before repeating what Lancelot had said. Visibly shaken at these words; the other knight studied his friend and stepped forward until he could touch him. “The Ill-Made knight? Why would you choose such a name?”

He didn’t answer for a long time, Gawain decided to break the silence by speaking once more. “Come on out and I’ll show you that you’re not an Ill-Made knight.”

“How do I know that you are real and not the trickery that the mind makes up?” Lancelot asked softly, and to Gawain he must have appeared like shattered glass because he had knelt down and placed a hand over his own. 

For a few moments the two friends remained locked that way, and so much was spoken without the two of them having to speak. Already Lancelot felt soothed, not only by his old friend’s sudden appearance but also because he was sure that his friend was really there in front of him. 

Finally Gawain spoke and he could hear the raw emotion in his friend’s voice. “The mind is known to play these dirty tricks upon us in times like this, but your mind can never be cruel enough to imagine a friend returning for you.”

VI

The moment that he had laid eyes on Guinevere, he knew he had fallen in love with her. The young queen had big white flowers in her hair the day she was presented to Arthur. The white mare that she was on was as magnificent as Arthur’s future queen and the party she had arrived with, and when the King stepped forward to help her dismount from her horse, she did so gracefully, like many of the noble ladies that Lancelot had observed in the past.  
He first found himself drawn to her beauty, but as he soon discovered there was much more to women than a beautiful face and a nicely carved body. Guinevere was an enchanting creature, full of mystery and an intelligence that was beyond her years and gender. Her kindness to others both of her status and beneath it intrigued him, and it was often that he had heard his fellow comrades speak of her in a way that would have made Arthur boil with rage. 

It was Gawain that had first noticed his dangerous obsession with the dark haired Guinevere, and it was he that pulled Lancelot away from the others in the courtyard to confront him about it. 

“If Arthur discovers that you have eyes for his wife, death is going to be the least of your worries,” warned Gawain in a low voice. Lancelot noticed Sir Tristan and Sir Kay looking at them curiously, both of whom seemed to be in deep conversation. He had the horrible feeling that the topic for their discussion was him. 

“I don’t have eyes for our king’s wife.” He looked fiercely into Gawain’s eyes and saw the doubt cloud his friend’s dark eyes.

“I recognise that look in your eyes whenever you lay eyes on her.” Gawain was serious now. “You must tread carefully around this woman, she isn’t to be trusted. She’ll cause you more harm than good.” 

Lancelot paled but did not say anything in response. How could he say that Guinevere wasn’t too far from his thoughts these days, or that what he felt for her went deeper than a mutual respect and that it was love? Gawain wouldn’t be able to understand these feelings though he was sure that he would get some great advice for how to deal with these new emotions.

However, he remained silent and did not speak of them. He knew what Gawain would say if he voiced them, knew that the large knight would have watched him closely if he did say them out loud. He had learned early on that holding one’s tongue was a virtue that should be upheld in moments like these. Moments later he was relieved when Gawain dropped the subject, albeit with a few suspicious looks here and there, but the topic was never brought up again. 

VII

Things had gone to hell in the short few years that he and Guinevere had started their affair. While both Arthur and Gawain had their suspicions that something else was going on, they never voiced it out loud. For the two lovers however, it was a blissful time for the two of them, and they did not notice the shadows that began to close in on them.  
It was Gawain who had caught on first, though he decided he needed more evidence before he could outright accuse Lancelot of the affair, things had considerably cooled down in their friendship for the first couple of weeks after the intimacy had started. 

“Tell me the truth, Lancelot and I’ll never say another word about it.” Gawain was unusually stern that day when he asked Lancelot to take a walk with him to the river and back. “Are you or are you not being inappropriately intimate with Arthur’s queen?” 

Lancelot immediately denied the accusation that was hiding in Gawain’s voice. He reassured his friend that Guinevere had asked him on a few occasions to look into things for her and Arthur, and had on two occasions taken the queen to confession, a fact that Lancelot swore up and down to was something that was witnessed by Sir Tristan, Sir Alymere and a group of chattering, giggling high ladies of court. 

Though he still appeared to be doubtful and extremely suspicious, Gawain put his hand on his arm and after making sure that none of the others had followed them, whispered urgently. “The king is getting suspicious, Lancelot. I wouldn’t want to make a friend into an enemy if our dear king began seeing you as one.”

“Don’t worry, my friend,” said Lancelot calmly, though his heart was hammering painfully in his chest. “I assure you that my relationship with the queen isn’t intimate, it is just close because she trusts me with certain things.”

Gawain shook his head. “I tell you that woman has ill-intentions. If you’re caught, you’ll be the one facing the consequences not her, she is a high lady of the court, Lancelot. Remember that. She’ll point the finger at you and Arthur’s rage will be aimed directly at you and your betrayal.”

“I told you that I am not intimate with this woman!” Lancelot had coloured slightly, but at the same time he was relieved, if Gawain knew about his affair with Guinevere, perhaps he could tell the truth to his friend at long last. He had found over the years that the lies he had built up over the years was damaging everything that he had achieved thus far. He could hardly look Arthur in the eyes anymore, and he couldn’t exactly avoid the king anymore than he could avoid Gawain. 

“Just be careful,” hissed Gawain as Arthur’s voice called for them. “If you’re not, I will lose much more than a great friend, but a brother as well.”  
Lancelot’s heart felt like it was being clutched by an iron fist as they made their way back up to their fellow comrades and king. 

“Ah there you are,” said King Arthur loudly as they came into view. “I have been telling everybody of the feast that is to take place tonight...”

Lancelot’s mind wandered as Arthur spoke to them. He was thinking of the secret that he had been carrying deep in his heart and felt physically sick at the thought that he was betraying not only a king he had sworn to serve, but also a friend. He thought about telling Guinevere that he could no longer see her, but that caused his heart to ache in the same way it had once ached for his homeland. There had to be some other way to end his suffering, he thought about Arthur and the urge to blurt out the truth overwhelmed him for a moment. He noticed Gawain looking at him in concern out of the corner of his eye, but did not look at him.

“Lancelot,” said Arthur suddenly, the sound of his voice made him jump slightly as he was brought out of his thoughts. “I’ve been meaning to discuss something with you.” The king looked pointedly at Gawain who bowed and left, giving a pointed look at Lancelot as he did so. 

“I am worried about our boundaries,” Arthur said after awhile. “You’ve heard the rumours about the Saxon army that has been invading overseas?”  
Of course he had heard the rumours, and he believed them too. The Saxons were a force to be reckoned with and if they had invaded countless countries and had this one within their sights, Arthur and the war council were right to be concerned about a possible breach into this country by these barbarians. 

“What do you want me to do, my king?” Lancelot asked. 

“Tomorrow I want you to take a patrol of knights to take a look at the seawall near the castle of Pevensey. I believe that is the easiest point of attack and the most susceptible to invasion for these barbarians.” Arthur looked absently over at the other knights, now enjoying a light banter. “The last thing that I want is another bloody war, though if the Saxons do invade this country, then a war is inevitable.”

Lancelot bowed low to his king and left Arthur to his thoughts. He had learned the hard way that it was best to leave Arthur alone when the king was deep in thought, especially when they were troubled ones. However he left his king with an equally troubled heart and conscience, and he resolved to make sure that his troubles ceased later that evening when he was sure Guinevere would be alone in her bedchamber. 

VIII

He blamed himself for the situation he was now in; gazing into the face of a livid and murderous king was something that Lancelot had not dreamed of doing. He only hoped that Arthur would remember the proclamation he had made all those years ago to his knights and what he had expected of them, but he dared not voice that out loud in case Arthur saw that as a challenge and had him executed after all. 

Guinevere hastily covered herself and put herself directly in front of Lancelot. He had to give the woman some credit, at least she didn’t point the finger at him and say that it was his fault that she had been seduced- though he wished she did because Arthur looked enraged at this move. 

He saw Mordred and Agravain, the latter of which looked somewhat horrified at what he had done. Mordred meanwhile looked quite pleased with himself, something that Lancelot would have been more than happy to knock out of him had it just been the two of them in the room and did not include the angry king that appeared to want Lancelot strung up where he stood. 

“I would never have expected this of you, Lancelot.” Arthur looked beside himself with rage as he pushed Guinevere roughly out of the way. She fell upon the bed and placed her face into her hands in distress. “You are a trusted knight of the round table. You’re supposed to be a noble knight!”

Lancelot ducked his head in shame, but did not say anything. He looked over at Guinevere and saw that her shoulders were shaking; his heart ached for her when he felt her pain at what was happening. 

There was a noise from the hallway, an angry shout and the sound of hurried footsteps. The source of the noise was soon revealed when Gawain burst through the door out of breath and looking slightly harried. He surveyed the scene before him, and his eyes widened when he saw what had happened. He gave Lancelot a tragic look before turning his attention back to Arthur. 

“You called for me, Milord?” 

“Bring this traitor to the dungeons, I’ll deal with him after I’ve dealt with my wife,” said Arthur coldly. 

Lancelot struggled as Gawain put his arm on his own to remove him from the room. “No, punish me instead! Do whatever you want, but don’t hurt Guinevere...” 

The blow to his head left him nearly senseless; he looked up to see an angry Arthur yelling at Gawain to remove him at once. He allowed himself to be dragged out of the room and out into the corridor; Gawain half carried, half dragged him down to the staircase before Lancelot spoke. 

“You didn’t... have to do that!” Lancelot cried out as he tried to pull out of Gawain’s grasp. 

Gawain’s jaw was set in a hard line that told him just how angry he was. “I had to do it to prevent you from getting yourself killed. Arthur is a fair and just king; you were pushing him to do the unthinkable if you had gone on with that entire brave lover stunt you were trying to pull!” 

“What do you think will happen to...”

“What will happen to you is up to Arthur to decide,” said Gawain harshly. “Guinevere on the other hand has her fate sealed. She most likely will have her hair cut and banished. I’ve seen it plenty of times with women who were thought to have been guilty of infidelity.”

Gawain began to pull him towards the door that led out to the courtyard where the horse stable was housed.

“Gawain...”

“You need to leave at once Lancelot.” Gawain didn’t look at him. “Go return to your homeland, you’ll be out of Arthur’s reach there and won’t have to face justice for your crime.”  
“But he’ll know you helped me escape.”

Gawain shook his head. “He doesn’t know how hard I hit you in the head. What he does know is that you are a great warrior, I’ll tell him you fought your way out and managed to escape before I could grab you again.”

“I won’t forget what you have done for me.”

“Go before anyone sees!” 

Lancelot didn’t wait to be told twice, he took off towards the stable where a horse had been saddled up and jumped into the seat. He looked towards the doorway where Gawain still stood; looking as grim as he usually did when he was riding through the aftermath of a bloody battle to look for survivors. 

The moment that Gawain turned his back to him, Lancelot spurred the horse into a gallop and took off towards the apple orchard that would bring him right to the slow moving river. 

IX

A few days after he had made his escape from the castle and the justice that would have sealed his fate, Lancelot had discovered what was to become of Guinevere. He had spent the last few days in a tavern on the other side of the river, keeping a low profile in case Arthur had sent his knights out to find him and keeping to himself. By chance he had overheard a conversation between the owner of the tavern and a few of the locals that were evidently regulars.

“Did you hear what is going to happen tomorrow?” one of the regulars asked the owner. 

“I did hear, and I scarce believe it,” said the owner. “Arthur is going to execute his wife Guinevere.” 

Lancelot’s blood had run cold at the words, but he listened closely still, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. 

“I wonder why,” said a man nearest to Lancelot. “She doesn’t seem to be one of those women that is hungry for power and is trying to get the throne.” 

“I heard that the queen had an affair and that her lover had managed to escape.”

The owner looked grim. “I heard that our king was most reluctant to sentence her to death.”  
-  
It was only afterwards that Lancelot wished that he had planned out the rescue of Guinevere fully before attempting to get her out of the mess she was in. If he had made the realisation that he was only causing more problems rather than solving them, he wouldn’t have attempted it in the first place. However, he had learned early on in life that you cannot change the past, no matter how much one wants to- even if it was to avoid a tragedy that one didn’t know would happen until it took place. 

It was in the attempt of saving Guinevere from her fate that things started to go horribly wrong. It seemed that Arthur knew that he would try to rescue the queen from her death and had ensured that there were plenty of knights around that would prevent that from happening. 

In the end of it all, Lancelot found that he had made the situation far worse than he had expected. He had assembled a group of knights that were loyal to him and attacked without assessing the scene first. It was there that he had killed, quite by accident, Gaheris and Gareth, the two brothers of Sir Gawain.

He heard Gawain’s cry of grief at the sight of his two brothers and of Lancelot who was defending his own brother against Agravain. For several seconds the two stared at each other, and Lancelot knew what it felt like to be Gawain’s enemy for the first time since he had met him. 

“We need to retreat!” cried a knight to Lancelot’s left. “We cannot continue to fight, there are too many of them. The king knew that we would attempt a rescue!” 

After another twenty minutes of desperate battle, this time pitted against his friend who was now fighting to the death, Lancelot made the signal to pull out. He guarded their retreat, wounding Gawain in the process before retreating with the rest of his companions. As he ran he looked back to where Gawain lay, prone and bleeding in the grass, and nearly stopped to return to his friend’s side. His heart breaking at the sight of his injured friend, Lancelot continued to run as fast as he could. 

X  
It was with a heavy heart that Lancelot headed back to France. He knew that he could never return to England, not when Arthur was intent on hunting him down to have him face justice for the massacre that took place in the courtyard leading up to the castle’s main gate.

“King Arthur was pressured by Sir Gawain to wage war on you,” said Sir Lionel soon after their departure from the ship. 

Lancelot nodded absently, he had heard the proclamation himself before they had left the city for the harbour that would bring them back to France.  
“What do you propose we do?” Sir Lionel asked him. 

“The only thing we can do, Lionel.” Lancelot began walking briskly towards the stable yard that was near to the harbour and pulled out a pouch of coins that had been obtained before he had escaped the city. “We wait for them to arrive. If Gawain is intent on waging war on us, it will only be a matter of time before he finds out where we are hiding. For now, we wait him out.” 

Lionel said nothing further as Lancelot acquired two of the strongest horses and purchased them. He gave the reins of a dappled grey to Lionel and mounted the second, this one a sturdy bay gelding.

“You remind me of a horse that I once rode on my many adventures in England,” Lancelot said sadly as he spurred the horse into a canter and took off in the direction that would take him home. 

XI  
He knew that his actions leading up to the battle at the execution pyre would result in the next great tragedy that was about to unfold. 

Gawain found him in his château in Trèves five months after his return. The château had been left to him by his father, and it was just as he remembered it before he had left for England all those years earlier. He remembered being excited about the tournament that he had been invited to, remembered telling his younger brother about the newest adventure that he was about to go on. 

'If I had told him of the true adventure I had gone on, he wouldn’t have believed me.' Lancelot thought bitterly as he thought of Guinevere, the fall of the round table and of his dearest friend’s hatred of him. 'If I had known what would have happened at that young age, I would have strove to prevent it all from happening.' 

The day that Gawain had found him was one where the previous evening’s sunset warned of an incoming storm, one that was going to be as vicious as it was bad. He had felt the storm’s approach in his bones as he stood by the Loire River and peered up at the sunset, it had been a fiery red and promised of blood being spilt. Lancelot had stayed awhile longer before he hurried back indoors and bolted the windows and doors. 

The morning of Gawain’s arrival, the sky was a dark grey. Large, towering clouds were quickly approaching the Loire, and in the distance Lancelot heard the grumble of thunder and saw lightening strike a tree downriver. He tensed as he watched the approaching storm, wary of the fact that it promised to be a bad one and waited by the windows as the wind thrashed the trees. 

The sound of shattering glass was the thing that made him suspect that the sun’s warning the previous evening, warned more than the approaching storm outside. Without turning around he waited as the footsteps came down the hallway and paused in the doorway of the room he was in. 

“Hello Gawain,” he greeted before he turned around to see his old friend standing in the doorway, his sword drawn.  
-  
Jump, lunge, cut, parry, step back, swipe, feint, lunge, froissement, parry, cut over.

It was the same thing that he had done all those years ago when he had fought Gawain in the beginning. To have those very same steps done to him by an old friend whose intent was to kill was something that Lancelot had never believed would happen. 

“This is for Gareth!” Gawain roared as he cut Lancelot’s shoulder with his sword. Lancelot did not yell out in pain as his shoulder became soaked with blood, he knew that he deserved it just as he deserved Gawain’s rage. 

The next blow was aimed at his chest, a blow that he easily deflected and hopped back. Gawain howled with rage and continued to swing his sword, not caring where it struck or how it left him open to being run through, something that Lancelot was avoiding to do.

“I didn’t realise that your brothers were there,” Lancelot said desperately as he hopped back to escape the next blow. “They were in their armour, if I had realised they were there I would have made sure to avoid them!” 

Talking became more and more difficult as both Gawain and Lancelot were out of breath and exhausted from the fight. Though Gawain seemed to be getting more and stronger with each blow he dealt, and Lancelot knew that what he had to do was to save his own life. 

“Your need for vengeance will be your undoing!” Lancelot cried out as he struck Gawain in the chest with his sword, the blade sunk in and he watched his friend’s eyes grow wide with shock. Then, as if Gawain were a stone statue, he fell with a sickening thud to the floor, bleeding profusely from a gaping wound in his breast.

Horror-stricken at what he had done, Lancelot dropped his sword and went immediately to his friend’s side. He knew that Gawain was beyond help, the wound was too deep and from the way it was bleeding, he knew he had struck an important artery. The man that had for so many years been unstoppable was dying before his eyes, killed by his hand. 

Gawain seemed to know that he was dying as well because he motioned to Lancelot to come closer to him; he obliged and held his friend’s hand. 

“I realised I was wrong in seeking vengeance for my brothers deaths,” said Gawain slowly as he gasped with pain. His breath began to leave him, Lancelot clung tighter to his hand, and for a moment it seemed to bring Gawain back if only for a brief moment. “Forgive me for my anger and hatred towards you.”

“You don’t need to ask for my forgiveness, my friend.” Lancelot was barely able to contain himself as he spoke and for a moment he paused to collect himself. “I should be the one asking for forgiveness, I killed your brothers and got you this way.” 

Gawain smiled and it brought Lancelot back to the moments that they had been on their adventures together, but then his friend shuddered violently and the light in his eyes died just as his last breath escaped his chest.  
\------------  
The tomb was a nice one, and Lancelot knew that Gawain would be pleased with it if he had been there in the flesh. However, that one comfort was not enough to sooth the pain over the loss of a great friend. He found that he missed Gawain like he would miss limbs from his own body. 

He found that now that Gawain was completely gone from his life, just how much he had taken advantage of having the knight as a friend. Just like he discovered just how much his friend had truly meant to him and just how much his heart truly ached to talk to Gawain. 

For three days he sat beside the tomb of his greatest friend, remembering the good and bad days alike. There were times that he thought he heard Gawain’s laugh echoing around the tomb, but he knew it was his mind playing tricks again. 

He found that life was sometimes like glass, it was easy to crack and just as easy to break. His life right now was like shattered glass, he had lost his livelihood, the respect of a knight and a great friend; but he discovered that glass could be repaired with glue, and it was with this thought that he knew what he was going to do next. 

With that in mind, Lancelot got up and brushed his lips upon the white marble tomb that had become Gawain’s final resting place before he left for good.


End file.
